


How the Season May End

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x23 meta, Destiel - Freeform, Fights, First Kiss, M/M, Mark of Cain, My Brother's Keeper, Spells & Enchantments, canon destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron finally gave it up, or ... Castiel finally tortured it out of him: the cure. They know how to cure Dean of the mark; and thankfully, Rowena already hunted down the spell book they need to do so. They managed to steal it away from her just before she could harness its power; stalling her just long enough to collect the ingredients and get to work. So as they gather together in the crypt - the crypt containing bones and artifacts from the first witch in all of existence, Casitel, Sam and Dean begin the process ... the process that will finally save the eldest Winchester from the deadly Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Season May End

**Author's Note:**

> I was driving to work, thinking about Destiel actually becoming canon and how likely it seems-- also, how likely it is that the writer’s will fuck with us. Then, it popped into my head-- just how they will actually introduce the long-awaited love between our favorite hunter and the sweetest angel to ever exist ... and the realization isn’t pretty.

     “I don’t like this, Cas.”

     “It is our only option, Dean. Forgive me if I overlook your _concerns_ for the sake of your life.

     Dean peers over the angel’s shoulder as he mixes all the ingredients of the spell. The book they pried away from Rowena is written in Enochian, and it’s a good thing they just happen to have an Enochian-speaking angel on their side.

     “But you said it takes angel grace” Dean says for the third time since they arrived at the crypt where the spell is supposed to be incanted—still trying to understand exactly _how_ they are going to pull this this off.

     Castiel turns away from his work, eyeing the forlorn Winchester as if he just insulted him. “Yes, and _I am_ an angel—not much of one, but I do contain grace.”

     Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to look at Sam who’s standing guard by the door of the crypt—his younger brother looks over his shoulder, shrugging at Dean’s concern. Dean relents and goes back to trying to reason with the one who widdled this solution from Metatron in the first place. “I know you’re an angel, Cas— _but, man_ … you’re running on fumes here and by the sound of this spell, it’s going to take all you have. What’s gonna happen then? I ain’t livin’  if it means you dyin’!”

     Castiel’s shoulders stiffen but he keeps his eyes focused on the large, stone slab holding all the ingredients they’ve collected. He stays silent for a long while making both Sam and Dean trade worried looks.

     “ _Cas_?” Dean finally asks, reaching out to rest a hand on his friend’s arm.

     “I have enough grace to do _both_ the spell, and survive to see the effect. _Please_ , Dean. Do not worry about me. I …” his voice trails into a low murmur that makes Dean scoot in closer to hear. “I am not going to just let the mark take you. _I won’t._ ”

     Dean opens his mouth to speak but a distance _boom_ shakes the walls of the old crypt, making stones break and fall about their heads. The men crouch down, readying their weapons, looking towards the entrance and waiting for the inevitable attack. Castiel remains in front of the altar, letting his hands fly as he recites incantations and adds more of the ingredients to the pile on the slab.

     “Cas, buddy! You better hurry up!” Sam barks, still looking out the entrance of the crypt.

     The angel doesn’t respond, working faster as his eyes widen with his speed. Dean turns back just in time to see his friend raise a knife to his wrist; the sleeve of his coat is pushed up and soon, a clean slice is made down the length of his forearm. White, blue streaks glow from the cut, humming with the ear splitting sounds that Dean first encountered on the day he emerged from hell—the day Castiel saved him ... and here he is again, many years later … broken, beaten-- _befriended_ , and saving Dean once more. _Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters._  
     “Give me back my book!” Rowena’s voice seems to screech from every angle, shaking the crypt so hard, Dean worries it will crumble to dust and all this will be for nothing.

     “How’d the bitch get here so quick?” Dean booms, looking back to Sam.

     “I don’t know, but she’s pissed! Get ready!”

     Dean narrows his eyes, preparing himself for whatever is about to come. The mark begins to burn as his anger rises … he feels the blood thicken in his veins. Copper coats his tongue and the old sensation starts to come over him again. _He’s losing his grip of humanity,_ he’s losing grip of everything that makes him _him_. Sam glances back just as Dean’s eyes flash black.

    “Dean! No!” 

  
     But Dean is still fighting; a part of his soul is refusing to ashen and he does all that he can to channel the rage—the _hate_ , the strength from the mark into backing that last, fleeting bit of sanity within him. _It may just help them win this_ ; it might be their last shot. “It’s alright, Sammy. _I’m alright_. Just fight!”

     Red curls and crimson lips flash across the room, seeming to fill it in a blur. Sam is knocked against the wall, making his gun fly from his hands as he slides down into a crumpled pile of flannel and hair.

     Dean moves to check on him, but he’s cut off by the tall, slender witch, grinning with a malice he’s never seen beyond the mirror.

     “Oh, _come now_ my sweet. Don’t you worry your precious, little head over that one! It’s not _him_ I care about” she sips sweetly, as if she’s singing him a song.

     “Lady, you _really_ don’t want to mess with me right now!” Dean hisses, feeling the mark explode through his every cell.

     Rowena straightens her neck, looking over at Castiel as he drips more grace onto the slab. “You’re right, dearie. I don’t need to waste time with _you_ …” With a flick of her wrist, Dean flies against the opposite wall, joining his brother on the floor. “ _The angel_ is the one who’s about to ruin everything I worked so hard for.”

     Castiel turns and Dean opens his eyes just as Rowena reaches out her hand, clenching her thin fingers into a fist. Low, breathy words make her tongue curl and clack against her teeth. Castiel tries to throw another ingredient onto the pile, still eyeing the witch—but he’s halted; his feet kicking as he’s lifted into in the air by invisible hands. The ringing of his grace gets louder—becoming a deafening wail that makes both Sam and Dean double over.

     “Cas!” Dean croaks, trying to keep an eye focused on his friend as he struggles against Rowena’s powers.

     “ _Stop this_!” Castiel barks at her—his voice, barely audible over the sound of his inner being pouring from his arm.

     “ _No_ —I don’t think I will!” the witch hums playfully.

     The angel’s eyes flicker over to Dean, still trying to lift himself against Rowena’s spell. The breaking Winchester finally manages to rise, but he feels his self-control crack with the fight. He yells, beating his fists down on his legs, doubling over—desperatly trying to hold on.

     “Dean!” Castiel bellows, making the man peer back up from beneath his furrowed brow.

     The angel’s eyes begin to glow as his urgent anger peaks. Castiel holds out his hand, clenching his jaw as he pulls every last shred of his grace into a blast that sends Rowena reeling. He falls to the floor the moment her focus is broken.

     “Cas!” Dean is scrambling to the angel’s side, dropping his gun in the flurry—still feeling the mark urge him to turn and attack the witch while she’s vulnerable; _but he doesn’t_ —something stronger is pushing him towards his friend ... his angel.

     “Help me up!’ Cas commands weakly.

     Dean begins to reach down, but he notices how pale his friend looks. _He’s weak._ The man stops, suddenly hoping that the angel won’t be able to move—won’t be able to finish the spell. “No, Cas … this is too much!”

     The angel glares at him, rolling over to crawl back towards the altar. Dean reaches out to stop him just as Sam screams his name. He turns to see his brother, trying his best to hold Rowena back, keeping one hand over her mouth and his other arm, pinning _hers_ down. The air begins to shake with her fury. Dean runs towards them, letting the mark build within him as his feet fall hard on the stone. He frees his knife from the waistband of his jeans, pulling back, ready to jam the steel between the witch’s ribs.

     “Lights out, bitch!”

     But Rowena seems to explode, sending a shockwave from her skin and knocking the brothers down once more. 

     She looks over to see Castiel, kneeling against the altar while removing the first blade from the inner pocket of his coat. He places it gently on top of the pile—reciting the last, hoarse words of the spell. Dean feels his arm ache, quickly morphing into painful stabs that sink into the sensation that his flesh is being ripped to shreds by a thousand razors. He screams, curling into himself as the pain flows through him. The crypt begins to glow and Rowena turns around, her face panicked as the realization sinks in— _the spell is complete_. The mark is disappearing. Her one chance at commanding a knight of hell is gone.

     “No!” she screeches, turning back to Castiel who’s slowly slipping down onto the cold, stone floor beneath him. “You wretched, winged beast! You ruined _everything_!”  

     Dean continues to writhe on the floor, feeling Sam’s hands on him, trying to shake him out of the pain—but it’s too much.

     Rowena looks back at the men, Dean on the ground and Sam, looking scared and helpless against whatever it is that’s happening. A coy smile drips across her lips as she thinks of her next move. She turns; stomping over until her pointed shoes are stabbing at Dean’s shaking shoulders. Sam reaches out to push her away, but she once again sends him hurtling into the wall. She crouches down and whispers into Dean’s ear, letting her words slither into his mind like a snake—hell bent on constricting every bit of his hope. “You boys took away my book, trying to steal away my chance at knowing every spell ever known—and then you stole my chance at having _you_ as my wee, little pet. _Well_ …” she giggles, making Dean feel nauseous on top of being ripped apart. “Now, I am going to take something from _you_.”

     Dean’s eyes burst wide to see the mess of red curls twist away. He pulls his head up, still shaking against the attack on every nerve. He watches Rowena move towards Castiel, who is still wheezing on the floor. The witch dances one, blood, red finger atop his dark hair, slowly spinning it clockwise until her wrist gives a forceful flick. The angel’s head twists round, and a sickening crack echoes off the walls.

     Dean feels his body freeze. The pain seems to halt as new sensation floods through him—one he’s never felt before, _not like this._

_Emptiness_

     He’s scooped out, leaving his insides hollow as his eyes fill with the sight of his friend’s coat, stilled against the stone.

  
     Rowena turns with a smile, lifting her foot to begin her way back to Dean—only to have it kick back, making her stumble until she nearly falls. Her face blanks as she reaches up to grip her own throat. She chokes and blood begins to spurt from her lips. The witch falls to her knees, screeching jumbled words before her eyes finally fade—dancing one last time to the door of the crypt. She slides to the floor, and Dean watches the final traces of her smile drain into the cracks between the cobble.

  
     “I’m sorry, Dean.” Crowley’s voice draws his eyes over. He sees the suited demon, standing rigid in the doorway. “I didn’t know she would go this far … I didn’t know she’d kill—” the king’s words waver against his own misjudgment “I would have stopped her sooner if I knew” his voice cuts out as he looks over to Castiel, unmoving beside the altar.

     Dean follows his gaze, still feeling as if he is nothing but skin under clothes. He lifts himself to his hands and knees, crawling slowly towards his friend. He pushes Rowena’s lifeless body aside, moving past her until he is finally next to the angel—the angel who just gave everything he had to save him.

     Dean reaches out to touch Cas’s cheek, noticing for the first time, the clear, unmarred skin of his own right arm. _It’s gone._

     “Did … did the spell work?” Crowley asks, noticing Dean’s observation.

     The man stays silent.

     Sam finally regains consciousness, shaking his head as he tries to connect all the flying dots from around the room. “What _happened_?” He looks over to see Crowley, and he furrows his brow. He then glances across the room to see Rowena— _dead_ , and Dean, hunched over the tan folds of their friend’s coat. “ _No_ ” he whispers, scrambling to his feet. Sam runs over to Dean’s side, stopping just short as he realizes the truth. _Cas is gone_. “No” he says again, feeling himself begin to sink. His eyes move slowly from the angel’s face, down enough to see his brother’s newly, freed arm. A wave of excitement clashes against the ache. “Dean! The mark! _It’s gone_! It worked! It _actually_ worked!” Sam bends down to embrace his brother but he’s shoved away.

     Dean holds out his hand, trying to keep some distance while still looking at Castiel.

     “ _Dean_ ...” Sam pleads, but he knows, his brother doesn’t care about the curse finally being lifted. He has a _whole new_ curse now, and this one is much, much worse.

     Dean drops his hand, balling it into a fist as he crawls across Castiel’s body. He lets his head hang over the familiar, but stilled, glassy eyes – watching as the blue fades with every breath he lets fall down against his friend’s greying skin. His elbows break and Dean falls, letting himself crumble against Cas’s side. He wraps his arms around his angel, pulling him in close with all his strength. He looks once more into the clearing irises as they reflect back the last six years. He stares into the rings, seeing himself—seeing a man, a brother. He sees a son, a _friend_. He sees every life he saved, every drop of blood he kept from falling. He sees forgiveness for all the drops that hit the ground. He sees his father’s conviction, his mother’s kind eyes. He sees his brother’s heart and the weight of the world he always carried, finally lift. Dean blinks but as he looks once more into his angel’s face, he _still_ sees it all. It all shines back at him like the sun, casting light on the truth: he _is_ a man worth saving, and Castiel gave his life to prove it.

     The tears collect, and Dean dips his head into his friend’s neck, still feeling the warmth that’s been trapped beneath the collar of the tan coat. Dean lets out a sob, ignoring the worried words of his brother. He finally pulls away, reaching over to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, messing it up until it looks how it did that very first day in the barn.

     “You never were gonna give up on me, were you?” he chokes, biting his lip, still hoping for a response.

     Silence fills the crypt and Dean shakes harder.

     “You did everything for me, Cas …” he looks towards the ground a moment, feeling all his walls finally break. “You did _everything_ and I never even told you. _God_! I’m so sorry I never told you!” With a final, strangled sob, Dean lets his fingers curl around the cool, nape of his angel’s neck, and he pulls him in—laying his first and last kiss upon Castiel’s lips—lips, now as blue as the eyes Dean loved … he loved them with everything he had.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me. Please take a look at my other works as well ... many more feels, hottness and angst!


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